


Once More from the Top

by Philosophics



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dry Orgasm, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:50:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9258629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosophics/pseuds/Philosophics
Summary: Hanzo possesses a truly impressive amount of stamina--not that McCree's complaining in the slightest.





	

**Author's Note:**

> soo this is nothing but pure, unabashed pwp. it's completely the fueled by [@kallanatAlland](https://twitter.com/kallanatAlland/) and [@nandeeff](https://twitter.com/nandeeff/) on twitter.
> 
> also it's not what i was originally planning to write (because that apparently exists already, thank god) but then i couldn't stop thinking about a scenario like this because it is my shit, so here we go.

 

“Honey, I’m home,” McCree calls, singsong. He kicks off his boots by the door to Hanzo’s quarters then strolls further into the room, whistling cheerfully.

The carefree tune on his lips abruptly cuts off once he rounds the corner and gets a view of the bed.

“Oh, you’re back,” Hanzo says, then promptly lets his head fall back onto the mattress as he shoves the dildo in his hand deeper into himself with a wet _squelch._

Stunned, McCree stands there for several long minutes, trying to wrap his head around what he’s seeing. Hanzo’s splayed on his back on his bed, hair fanned out messily around his face, legs parted and knees drawn up, spine forming a pretty arch as he works the dildo into his ass--a sight McCree has a clear view of, since he’s currently facing the foot of the bed. The archer’s naked save for a large unbuttoned shirt that looks like it was thrown on last minute. It falls loosely around him, obscuring none of that flawless, ample chest, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows so as not to hinder his movements.

It’s his shirt, McCree realizes with a jolt. It’s _his_ fucking red flannel shirt--one of his favorites, a soft, worn one that drapes _just_ the slightest bit overlarge on the other man when he steals it to wear it. Like right now. As he’s fucking himself with one of his own dildos.

“Darlin’, you--” McCree finally finds his voice, though it’s dwindled to little more than a croak. He stumbles a couple of steps toward the bed.

“Ah, my apologies,” Hanzo breathes out, sweetly, the way he sounds only after being well fucked out, “just give me a moment.”

McCree halts in his tracks, unsure, and watches as Hanzo pushes the dildo--a sleek, black one of a decent girth, McCree recognizes--back into himself in a long, smooth thrust, burying it deep inside all the way to the flared hilt with a visible shiver. Slowly, he slides it back out halfway before repeating the process, keeping his movements careful and deliberate. Now that he’s closer, McCree can see the faint trembling of the archer’s thighs, a quivering in his torso indicative of the full-body shudders wracking his frame. The rim of his asshole is red and faintly puffy and glistening with lube as it swallows the stiff shaft with ease. Hanzo’s flushed from his cheeks down to his chest, which is pushed out, nipples stiff and slightly swollen like he’d been playing with them earlier. He certainly isn’t now, wholly focused on fucking himself with the toy. Belatedly, McCree notices that there’s already a puddle of pearly-white come on his torso.

There’s a telltale tightening in McCree’s pants while he continues to stare at the hypnotic sight of Hanzo steadily thrusting the smooth toy in and out of his own swollen hole, rhythm purposeful and measured except for the beats when it catches and stutters as a shiver ripples through him. He pays McCree no mind while he chases his own pleasure, a shuddery groan escaping from him every so often. McCree doesn’t miss the way his toned muscles flex with his efforts, the way his pecs heave with every labored pant, how his brows are drawn tight and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth in his concentration, how his toes curl in the sheets. And then Hanzo’s tipping his head back, baring the creamy column of his throat, and coming with a breathless moan. More come spills out from his flushed dick to join the mess already coating his stomach.

McCree lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He’s impossibly hard, he realizes. Painfully so. His hard-on’s already straining at the fly of his jeans just from watching Hanzo fuck himself senseless with a dildo. Though, really, the sight of that is probably hot enough to start a fire, so who can blame him?

He makes to move toward the bed, where Hanzo’s now a limp, spent heap. The archer’s fingers twitch around the handle of the dildo, gingerly drawing it out like he’s going to remove it. But then McCree stops abruptly for the second time, dumbfounded beyond belief, when Hanzo _keeps going,_ sliding the toy back into himself in an unsteady thrust that drags a low sound from his throat and another tremble from his limbs.

Eyes wide, McCree remains frozen to the spot, any moisture left in his mouth running completely dry, staring as Hanzo continues. The archer’s full-on shuddering now--from overstimulation, no doubt--and yet he still doesn’t relent, even though his fingers are shaking and he keeps making these aborted jerks with his hips like he’s trying to get away from his own thrusts. His spent cock twitches as more come is fucked out of him in weak oozes. Noises spill from his lips: breathless half-moans that falter and rasp to nothing whenever the dildo hits a particularly sweet spot inside him.

An especially loud gasp spurs McCree out of his stupor. He swallows thickly. Should he… join? But, Hanzo told him to ‘give him a moment’--though it’s surely been longer by this point. Also his feet might possibly be rooted to the spot now because he can’t seem to stop gawking at the scene laid out on the bed in front of his eyes and, _sweet holy hell,_ just how long is Hanzo going to keep milking himself?

At that moment, the other man tilts his face to one side, burying his nose in the soft folds of the shirt’s collar.

“Nngh.” A soft moan, and then: “Jesse.”

Alright, that’s it. Fuck patience. He's only got so much.

McCree’s never stripped faster in his life, shucking off his pants and underwear in one go and not bothering with his t-shirt. Thankfully, he left his armor and battle gear in his own quarters down the hall before coming over here, so it’s only two long strides more before he climbs onto the bed and gets himself in between Hanzo’s legs. He grips one smooth thigh with his metal hand, holding Hanzo open for him so he can see how he’s filled up to the brim, rim stretched wide around the toy. Hanzo doesn’t resist when McCree bats his hand away to tug out the dildo, taking care not to hurt the man with the movement, and tosses it aside. He then immediately plugs up his sloppy, fluttering hole with three fingers from his free hand.

“How many times’ve you come, sweetheart?” he asks, voice coming out hoarse.

“Nn. Two,” Hanzo mumbles after a pause, like he has to think about the answer. He takes in another shallow breath then shakes his head. “No, that--that was the third.”

 _Fuck._ Urgently, McCree locates the tube of lube, conveniently lying in the sheets nearby, and grabs it while he flexes the fingers inside Hanzo, testing the give of the slick, supple walls. The abused muscle is fucked loose and pliable around his hand. McCree feels lightheaded with just the thought of sliding into that hot, wet sheath.

“How ‘bout I help ya with the fourth, darlin'?”

The archer meets his eyes with his own glazed, unfocused ones, his pupils so blown that his iris is only a thin ring of brown eclipsed by black, all of it covered in a wet sheen.

“Yes, yes--Jesse, please.” He sounds desperate and absolutely wrecked, maybe more so than McCree’s ever heard him. And, well, McCree’s in no mood to tease so he just slicks himself up and buries himself to the hilt in one smooth motion.

He groans between clenched teeth as he’s suddenly enveloped in tight, silky, quivering heat. “Ngh, you’re still--so tight, sugar,” he grits out. “Fuck, ya feel like _heaven.”_

Hanzo lets out an honest-to-god _whimper_ \--a strained, needy noise that shoots straight to McCree’s cock. McCree hadn’t thought it was possible for him to get any harder than he already is, but here they are. He pulls back and pushes in again, a sharp pistoning of his hips, angling the thrust experimentally, and repeats the motion a few more times until he gets the aim just right. Then he adjusts his grip on Hanzo’s pliant thighs, folding them closer to the other man’s chest, and goes to town.

Hanzo jerks helplessly at the sudden onslaught of thrusts, legs tensing every time McCree’s hips meet his. McCree doesn’t have it in him to keep things sweet and tender right now and it doesn’t seem like Hanzo’s objecting to the harsh pace. Instead, the man melts bonelessly into the bed, fingers gripping desperately at the crumpled sheets by his head, and tilts his head up and back, mouth falling open and eyes rolling back. McCree takes advantage and mouths at the bared throat, sucking marks and dragging sharp teeth over the supple flesh and straining tendons while ragged, staccato moans flood his ears like music. Hanzo rarely gets this vocal during sex so he makes sure to savor the constant stream of positively _obscene_ sounds tumbling from the archer’s mouth like they’re being forced out of him.

McCree mouths a hot trail down from his jaw to the jut of his clavicle, sucking another bruise there before pulling back. The line of Hanzo’s neck is littered with red from his kisses and the rough drag of his beard.

“God, can’t believe--ya came three times without me, sugar. Couldn’t even _wait,_ couldja, angel? You’re so damn  _eager_ fer it,” McCree rasps, slamming into the other man much more roughly than Hanzo’d been fucking himself earlier. This time, he swivels his hips at the end of his thrust, grinding his cock into the archer’s prostate.

It’s not the first time he’s thought it, and it definitely won’t be the last, but McCree tosses up a silent prayer of gratitude for the feat of engineering that ensures their walls are (almost) completely soundproof because the noise that leaves Hanzo’s lips next is practically a wail. The archer’s eyes squeeze shut and he thrashes his head from one side to the other, his inky hair disheveled, his hands fisted in the sheets. His entire body is quivering endlessly from sensation and he’s babbling now--incoherent, choked words, some in English, some in his native tongue. Through the thick fog of his own arousal, McCree manages to make out _‘more’_ and _‘don’t stop’_ amid smatterings of his own name. To be honest, he doesn’t think he could stop now even if he wanted to.

McCree can’t resist swooping down and capturing Hanzo’s bitten-red lips in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, nipping at the plush flesh and licking hotly in between the seam of them to swipe at the other man’s tongue. Hanzo’s mouth is soft and lax beneath his, like he doesn’t have the presence of mind to return the kiss. McCree draws back to let them both recover their breaths. He can feel his peak approaching now, steadily and surely. He doesn’t expect to last much longer, not with the sight he’d been blessed with earlier, not with Hanzo clenching and squeezing erratically around him, not with the the archer spread out all fucked out and mindless with pleasure beneath him like a dream.

“You close, sweetheart?” he groans, pressing their sweaty foreheads together. “Gonna come for me again, Hanzo, jus’ from gettin’ fucked?”

Hazily, Hanzo opens his eyes--McCree notices subtle moisture gathered at the corners--and wets his lips a couple of times before jerking his head up and down in a nod. “Y-yes. Close.”

McCree lets go of one of Hanzo’s legs to reach up and thread their fingers together. Hanzo’s grip is weak but he makes an effort to clasp McCree's hand nonetheless. Soon after, he’s shuddering again, clenching down around McCree’s cock like a vice as he comes for the fourth time, soundlessly this time, shaking with the force of his orgasm. His cock twitches again against his belly, though only the barest of trickles of come leaks out. The sudden intense pressure around his dick shoves McCree over the edge too; he chokes out a moan, all his muscles locking in the violent wave of pleasure that sweeps him as he spills inside the other man.

It takes who-knows-how-long until McCree finally feels his heart rate settle down. After taking a brief moment, or several, to regain his lost breath, he carefully slides out of Hanzo, admiring the way the archer’s belly is painted in white and excess lube and other fluids leak out down his thighs  Hanzo lets out a thin whine at the movement but otherwise remains still as McCree clambers heavily off the bed and staggers the short distance to the small en-suite bathroom.

The archer appears to be asleep by the time McCree returns with a warm, damp towel, but he opens his eyes blearily when McCree begins to clean him up with gentle swipes of the cloth.

“God _damn,_ sugar. Your stamina’s really somethin’ else,” McCree marvels with a shake of his head, straightening and tossing the towel aside.

Hanzo just stretches out on the bed in response, kicking the abandoned dildo and lube to the floor in the process, and hums tiredly, clumsily patting the spot next to him. McCree tugs off his t-shirt, chucking it in the general direction of his other clothes, and lays down next to him, dragging the blanket over them both. A nap does sound pretty damn good right about now.

Something occurs to McCree then, as he shuffles himself closer to Hanzo.

“Sweetheart…” he mutters.

“Nn,” the archer mumbles, stirring faintly.

“Y'knew I was comin’ back this afternoon.”

Hanzo turns onto his side and meets his gaze. “Hn. So I did,” he murmurs airily. “What of it?”

“You--” McCree starts then shakes his head half-wonderingly, half-resignedly and huffs out an amused breath. “Nevermind.”

Hanzo blinks, a satisfied, languid dip of his eyelids. For a second, McCree thinks he spots a tiny trace of a smile on one corner of the other man’s mouth before it’s gone as he lets out a yawn, his eyes slipping back shut.

 _Four orgasms, huh,_ McCree muses thoughtfully. Maybe next time, they can try for five.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm totally supposed to be working on something else. ah, well. anyway, i'm [@feiyunn](https://twitter.com/feiyunn) on twitter. hmu if you wanna chat.


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